


all for the new day

by decidueye



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: M/M, Nonbinary Character, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-10
Updated: 2017-07-10
Packaged: 2018-11-30 11:30:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11462685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/decidueye/pseuds/decidueye
Summary: Bokuto leaves, and takes Keiji's 'infinite' patience with him.





	all for the new day

**Author's Note:**

  * For [keptein](https://archiveofourown.org/users/keptein/gifts).



> for kep, because i miss you a lot, enough to apparently tell as many people as read this just how much.  
> thanks to mack (best bean eternal) for the beta!

Keiji is elected captain in their third year at Fukurodani without much ceremony or consultation. It was what the graduating team had wanted, and everyone respects them too much to deny their final wishes. Besides, Keiji has already gained a reputation as a people wrangler, and they had been performing the captain’s administrative duties for the better part of their second year; the title is practically owed to them. Some of the members are even looking forward to Keiji’s more gentle form of encouragement taking center stage, thinking that it’s less likely to scare of the first years. Keiji accepts, not because they particularly want the position, but because it seems like the right thing to do, and they want to help carry on the legacy their old teammates had established.

What no one counts on, though, is Keiji’s temper. Keiji shows up on the first day of practice with the bitter taste of disappointment on their tongue, and they can’t shake it off no matter how many bottles of water they drink. Frustrated, they take it out on the club members, and within a week they’re known throughout the school as ‘the owl captain with the devil’s horns’. Their peers observe the transformation with a mixture of shock and fear, their excitement about having been picked for the regular team quickly fading at the prospect of having to meet Keiji’s increasingly impossible standards.

“If they can’t keep up, then they shouldn’t be here,” is Keiji’s sharp reply, when Karafuto points out that they’re putting a lot of pressure on the new members. “We’re one of the best teams in Tokyo - we can’t afford to waste time with people who aren’t going to take practice seriously.”

To enforce their point, they kick two first years who won’t stop chatting off the court, and they don’t turn up for practice the next day, or the day after that. Keiji can’t find it in themself to care, glad to be rid of drains on their resources.

The club takes to using Onaga, the only person that Keiji has any time for, to deliver bad news, hoping to lessen the volatility of their reaction. He’s not vice-captain, but he’s practically doing everything the vice should be doing, and Keiji pities him enough to feel a twinge of guilt at their own behaviour. They aren’t stupid; it’s obvious to them that Onaga is being used as a scapegoat, and they’re well aware of their own irritability and its impact on the team. They say as much to Onaga when he approaches them, hiding behind a clipboard, to tell him the first years are tired of running drills so early in the morning, and that they’re demanding a break.

“They don’t seem to realise that all of this dancing around my feelings is going to make me even more annoyed,” Keiji says, sitting down on one of the benches with a sigh. Onaga doesn’t join them, seeming to weigh up his options - or the risk he’s taking - before speaking.

“Well, there isn’t much that  _ doesn’t _ make you more annoyed, these days,” Onaga points out. Keiji levels him with a glare, and he wilts but holds his ground, staring back at them until they bark out a laugh.

“You’re right,” Keiji admits. To deny it would be more embarrassing. “I don’t know what’s gotten into me. Or into the team, because it could be that they’re just that much more incompetent.”

“I think it’s the first one,” Onaga offers, finally lowering the clipboard, and this time Keiji musters up enough willpower to return the smile they’re being offered. “I kind of understand it, though. It’s hard not to compare.”

Keiji hums their agreement. They know that that’s what they’ve been doing, and that that’s the reason practice - and the team - continues to disappoint them. Fukurodani is still a powerhouse, but it’s not the same unified force that it used to be, and there’s so much missing that Keiji feels as though they’re attending a funeral every time they play. Their sets are good, and the spikers almost never miss, but they haven’t felt a thrill at scoring a point since the year began.

“None of them measure up,” Keiji mutters quietly, and Onaga smiles sadly. He looks older now, and Keiji wonders when that happened - he's grown into his face, and his classmates’ teasing runs easily off his back. 

“Are you giving any of them the chance to?” he asks, handing the clipboard over and turning to leave. Keiji watches his back as he heads out of the door, chewing on the inside of their cheek. They've been called out by their junior and it doesn't feel good to be on the other end of this scenario. Next time they see Bokuto, they ought to apologise. 

Next time…  _ if.  _ If they see Bokuto, and if they get the chance to speak to him when they do. He's busy now, and doesn't have time for nostalgia, no matter what he might have promised. He needs to secure his spot on the national team. 

Keiji gives the first years a morning off and agrees to start practice half an hour earlier, but their mood fails to improve. Even Keiji is startled by their own harshness; words grow as thorns over their tongue, spitting venom with each reprimand. Realisation comes slowly, as they try again and again to soften their voice: Keiji has lost a skill they have always been applauded for. 

They don't have the patience. 

It hurts to hand the brunt of emotional leadership responsibilities to their vice, but they know that it’s for the best, and so that’s what Keiji does. They take a back step, keeping their comments as brief as possible and removing themself when they get too agitated, focusing instead on the captain’s administrative duties. Their coach supports the decision, telling them that they narrowly avoided losing their spot on the team, let alone as captain, and Keiji hides their wince when they accept his approval.

The reasoning still bothers them, though, and Keiji grows restless, losing sleep as they spend their nights wrapped up in self examination. Have they always had such a hostile and demeaning personality lurking within them? What prevented it from coming out before, and are they completely incapable of giving their juniors the support that was so effortlessly offered to them when they had first joined the team?

The fear of their own temper is difficult to shake, and soon Keiji starts to dread practice, recruiting Onaga to walk with them just so that they don’t give into the urge to skip. It’s humiliating, but so is the prospect of facing their teammates, who once admired them but now regard them with anxiety and contempt. Keiji avoids confrontation by speaking shortly and throwing themself into the sport instead; as long as their tosses are perfect, no one has the grounds to complain.

“Akaashi-san,” Onaga stands by their shoulder in the locker room, nudging them out of their head. “Let’s set up the court. I think you’re going to enjoy this practice.”

Keiji allows themself to be melodramatic for just a second, wondering why the last time they’d actually enjoyed practice is so beyond the reach of their memory.

By the time they’ve finished lifting the net they’ve talked themself out of their mood, determined to tackle practice with the same focus and self-awareness they’ve been maintaining for weeks. The first years are working hard, and if they’re not meeting Keiji’s standards, then the problem is with the standards, not the players. They keep their mouth firmly shut during warm ups, biting back criticisms that sit thickly in the back of their throat, and take a deep breath, ready to divide the players up for matches.

“Wait,” their coach says, a hand on Keiji’s chest. Keiji looks at it, scowling, but the coach ignores them. “We have a visitor. He’s in the locker room now, and I think everyone could use the motivation.”

There’s a dig at their attitude in there somewhere, Keiji knows, and they shrug it off tense shoulders, doing as they’re told. It’s not uncommon for professionals or scouts to visit Fukurodani, eager to have their pick of the players with the most potential. Last year, Keiji had hoped to be one of them; this year, they’re just hoping no one will call them out on their poor leadership skills.

The door to the gym opens, and Keiji’s heart stops, stomach lurching when they hear a familiar voice.

“Hey, hey, hey, Fukurodani! How’s my team doing without its best spiker?”

Bokuto enters the room like a breath of fresh air, and the effect is instantaneous. All of the second and third years relax, tension they’d gotten too used to holding flowing out of them, and the first years look on in awe, excitedly whispering amongst themselves about getting the chance to meet a school legend. Onaga smiles, coming up to Keiji and patting them on the back as everyone else rushes forward, clamouring for Bokuto’s attention.

“Told you you’d like it,” Onaga says, with more attitude than he’d ever had in his first year. Keiji doesn’t look at him, too entranced by Bokuto’s laughing figure - god, has he gotten even  _ broader? _

“You knew?” they ask, not moving, and Onaga shrugs.

“I heard coach talking about it last week...and how he wasn’t going to tell you in case you worked the first years too hard to impress him,” he explains, and Keiji snorts in disbelief. More likely they would have run scared - there was no way for them to pretend to be half the captain Bokuto was, no matter how much warning they were given.

“God, I didn’t expect you all to miss me this much,” Bokuto is saying, and there’s a hint of embarrassment in his voice that makes Keiji curious; is the national team making him modest? “Akaashi!”

Bokuto still butchers their name, of course he does, and he smiles with his tongue in his cheek as he meets their gaze, making them flush. They recover quickly though, and move forward, the other players parting way for them, still afraid after all.

“Bokuto-san,” they say when they’re close enough to not have to shout. Bokuto lays a hand on their shoulder, shaking it vigorously. He looks the same, but somehow older, and his cheeks are pink with pleasure. He’s genuinely happy to see them.

“Hey, hey, captain,” he says, teasing. “What’s all this I hear about you being a bully, hmm? Everyone’s talking about it, even at Toudai - saying Fukurodani’s new captain is a demon, and I was thinking ‘that can’t be Akaashi’! Even though you did scare me sometimes… but here you are? What’s your defence, Akaashi?”

Everyone freezes. For all his rambling, Bokuto has cut straight to the point, and he’s levelling Keiji with a comically serious look, reminiscent of the times he’d tried to offer advice to them ‘as a senpai’. Keiji feels caught: they can’t lie, not when the evidence of their harshness is all around them, and they’re ashamed of themself, about to be deservedly humiliated in front of their team.

For a moment, their hackles rise, and the nearest players around them brace themselves for the fallout. When they open their mouth, though, they take even themself by surprise, hearing a sound they haven’t heard in a long time. 

The whole room turns to stare when Keiji laughs. Bokuto’s eyes widen in confusion, his hand still on his shoulder, and Keiji has to reach up to wipe the corners of their eyes. They feel light headed and giddy.

“I’m sorry, Bokuto-san,” they say, still laughing. “I’m afraid it’s true. I seem to have used up all my patience as your vice, and now there’s none left. The first years are suffering because of you.”

Bokuto laughs with them, oblivious to the unnerved shock of the rest of the team, and whacks Keiji on the back. He’s definitely gotten stronger, but Keiji can’t find it in themself to mind the sting of their muscles where his hand fell, massaging it with a careful smile on their face.

“You’re so funny, Akaashi! I bet you just miss my spikes. A good session with your old Captain and you’ll be back to normal,” he turns to the others, pulling Keiji close until they feel themself warm, telling themself that it’s just because of their proximity to Bokuto’s skin, which has always been a furnace. “I’ve been missing their tosses, too, so don’t worry, I’ll bring your perfect captain back in less than a full match, just you watch!”

Everyone cheers, caught up in Bokuto’s enthusiasm, and Keiji can’t bring themself to call for silence. Bokuto is lapping up the attention, probably missing it now that he’s among similarly ranked players, and everyone is happy, which makes a change on this court. The coach starts to say that Bokuto was only supposed to be giving advice, but when the team starts dividing itself up he doesn’t stop them, only making sure that Keiji is placed on the same team as Bokuto.

“I think it could be good for you to remember how you got started,” he says gruffly, nodding in Bokuto’s direction. He’s demonstrating a spike to a group of eager-eyed first years. “You know the reason I haven’t kicked you off the team is because I believe in you, right? You created my star player.”

“No I didn’t,” Keiji says - a conversation they had often last year, and one that they hadn’t missed. The coach shrugs.

“Well, you made me want to use him,” he counters, and walks away to discuss tactics with some of the junior coaches, making sure they’re taking notes.

The game - or games, because of course one match evolves into three, and everyone is entranced by Bokuto’s charisma - go by so fast, and Keiji barely has time to register what plays they’re making, moving as if on autopilot. They mold easily around the team they’ve put together, and even though they make sure not to favour Bokuto every toss to him feels like they’re coming home, sending a rush through them that leaves them breathless.

It’s not until halfway through the second game that they catch themself patting one of the second years - Mori, a rising star who’ll probably be on the regular team before the year is up - on the arm and murmuring encouragement. They see his eyes light up, enthused and determined, and stop short as he turns away, eager to score again. Keiji feels proud of him, and wonders why they’ve never experienced that before.

Then Bokuto jumps on their back, and even as they yelp, winded, their gut churns. It’s obvious what the difference is, to themself and anyone who looks.

Bokuto goes to talk to the coach while the club cleans the court, and Keiji chats easily with the third years who used to be their friends - who might be again. Onaga helps them take down the net.

“You seem to be in a good mood,” he notes, and despite his neutral tone Keiji narrows their eyes, knowing that he’s teasing.

“I’m not sure I like this new Onaga-kun,” they grumble, and Onaga laughs. “He’s far too arrogant. Where’s the respect for your captain?”

“I respect you,” Onaga says, and Keiji knows he means it. They’ve kept Onaga’s respect this whole time, for some reason. “I definitely prefer today’s Akaashi-san, though. They’re softer; more like my old friend.”

Keiji shakes their head, but his words linger even as the gym starts to empty. Keiji has never been called soft before, even during their first two years at Fukurodani, but Onaga’s right that they’ve been...harder since the start of the year. Their own sharp edges have discomfited themself. 

If they’re softer today, then the only explanation can be that Bokuto softens them.

It’s something of an awkward explanation to come to, especially when the gym has emptied and Bokuto has given his thanks to the coach, coming up behind Keiji and resting his chin on their shoulder.

“Aw, man, where’s Onaga?” he asks. “I wanted to take my two successors out for ice cream.”

“You just missed him, Bokuto-san,” Keiji says, fighting the urge to lean into Bokuto’s hair. “You should have said.”

Bokuto pouts, sighing. “Ah well… I guess it’ll just be you and me this time. I’ll have to come back again,” he says, and Keiji looks at him in surprise, the movement jostling him off their shoulder.

“You don’t want to wait until then?” they ask. 

“Why would I? I’ve got so much to tell you,” Bokuto says, walking with them back towards the locker room. “Also,  _ please _ can you drop the ‘-san’ now? Maybe I’m a year older, but you’re captain and I’m not, so that makes us even, right?”

“I thought you liked being my senpai,” Keiji teases in spite of themself, inwardly rejoicing at Bokuto’s guilty blush.

“Only when I  _ was _ ,” he said. “I just wanted you to call me that. Now I wanna be your friend.”

Keiji warms yet again at the comment, changing quickly as they wonder if they’re going to spend the entire afternoon with their heart like an oven, temperature rising every time Bokuto lets another of his sincere compliments loose. They walk to the subway together, Bokuto eulogising about an ice cream cafe near the university that’s an easy walk from Keiji’s route home, and when they get on Bokuto insists that Keiji take the empty seat.

“So polite,” Keiji says. “Have your teammates at university been teaching you manners?”

Bokuto flushes again. “Something like that…” he mutters, and falls silent, seemingly content to watch the people around them.

The lull in conversation gives Keiji time to think; not necessarily a good thing, but something they’re prone to do anyway, and the subject of their fixation is standing right in front of them, which makes thinking unavoidable. They had been worried that there was a cruel person underneath the surface of their personality all along; was Bokuto the one who had been keeping it at bay? Or was it the lack of Bokuto that had brought the so-called ‘demon’ out, an exaggeration of their feelings of loneliness?

Keiji had never been aware that they were lonely, but watching Bokuto’s face and feeling at home, they supposed that could be the only thing that they had been feeling. No wonder they had grown hostile, unable to deal with a loneliness they hadn’t even begun to accept. But did they have to keep Bokuto close to stop themself from falling back into old habits?

_ It wouldn’t be so bad _ , they found themself thinking, if only they could get him to stay with them.

The ice cream is good - mint and saffron, far more sophisticated flavours than Keiji had been anticipating - but mostly they feel happy to be in Bokuto’s company. They listen thirstily, trying to soak up his conversation before he’s gone again and Keiji is left parched, with nothing to do but lash out.

Something of it must come through on their face, because Bokuto stops mid-sentence, the spoon halfway to his mouth.

“...Akaashi, are you okay? You look kinda...oh, shit,” he curses as the ice cream drops from the spoon and Keiji laughs again, hand coming to their mouth as if to stifle the reaction. Bokuto looks back up at him and then starts to laugh too, dropping the spoon in the bowl and pushing his hair back. He still wears it in his typical style, but Keiji has to wonder if he’s changed his gel, because it looks softer, and it doesn’t quite bounce back into place the way it used to. Finding themself wanting to run their hands through it, their saliva sticks thick in their throat, laughter tailing off.

“Man, it’s good to see you smiling, though,” Bokuto says sincerely, and Keiji has to look down, caught by the fondness in his eyes. “When I started hearing things, I was really worried...you’re not that type of person at all, and you looked so tense when I arrived, you know? Your shoulders all hunched, like when you’re anxious during a match, but we weren’t even playing yet…”

“I’m sorry,” Keiji says abruptly. It’s hard to take Bokuto lavishing so much praise and concern on them, because they know he means every word. He’s never been one for empty compliments, given or received - that was something they’d figured out fast when navigating his mood swings. Keiji doesn’t deserve it in this case, though, because Bokuto’s not thinking of them, but of the person they used to be when Bokuto was still around. Bokuto jerks back, startled.

“What? What are you sorry for?”

“I’ve let you down…” Keiji begins, and then suddenly they can’t hold back anymore. They grip their knuckles under the table, massaging each one as they speak in a rush, throat tight. “I haven’t been a good captain, and I haven’t been able to keep up the legacy you established or the lessons you taught me. I thought it was the team, I thought - that no one could compare to how we used to be, but I’ve realised now, it’s not that, it’s just me.”

Bokuto’s brows are furrowed in confusion, and he leans forward, reaching across the table, but Keiji keeps their hands firmly under, refusing to let him take them.

“What are you talking about, Keiji? You’re great, all of us knew it...Sure it’s hard to get used to and I miss the team too, but it’s not been that long yet...you’ve still got time, even I’m adjusting to the new team…”

Bokuto’s gaze drops for just a second when he tails off, and if they weren’t feeling so overwhelmed Keiji would want to chase that train of thought to find out what’s bothering him. As it is, though, they can’t stop themself, so unused to confiding in someone that they’re clinging to the opportunity. They shake their head, smiling sadly.

“You - everyone - thinks too highly of me. I was only who I was last year because of you.”

“What did we do?” Bokuto asks, and Keiji shakes their head, more vigorously this time. Bokuto values honesty, and they’ve always been straightforward with him. Now that they’ve started, they know they need to see it though.

“Not ‘we’, Bokuto-san. The others...we were a fantastic team, and everyone was talented, but...you were the one that made me good. Into a good person,” they say, and they can feel the flush creeping into their cheeks as they say it. It sounds so theatrical, and Keiji would expect something of the sort to come out of Bokuto’s mouth long before their own, but it’s how they feel. Bokuto watches them with wide eyes, silent for a moment, and then slams his hands on the table.

“What the fuck, Akaashi?” he says, and Keiji flinches. “Don’t ‘Bokuto-san’ me and talk such bullshit...That’s a cheap excuse.”

“Excuse?” Keiji echoes, looking up at Bokuto, startled and hurt. They’d long since gone of the track of their predicted courses of action, but even so they don’t think they could have anticipated Bokuto reacting like this. His ears are pink and his mouth a thin, wobbly line, but there’s definitely anger in his eyes, and Keiji isn’t sure how to take it.

“Yeah, Akaashi, it’s an excuse. You always told everyone that you didn’t control me or whatever, right? That you just helped me be my best? I heard you, even if you thought you were being sneaky. So it’s the same. If I...made you ‘better’, or ‘nicer’ or some shit, it didn’t come out of thin air. It’s you.”

His volume rises as he speaks, and other customers are starting to stare at them, but Keiji can’t bring themself to care, too focused on how Bokuto is turning their own words against them. They’ve been humiliated again, but this time they’re thankful for it. Bokuto is breathing heavily, staring them down, and Keiji coughs, reaching for their water to clear their throat. Even Bokuto won’t get them to cry in public.

“Wow, Bokuto-s...Bokuto,” they say after a moment, voice gaining strength slowly. They smile, slowly lifting their hands onto the table, their fingers brushing against his. “You really did listen to me, didn’t you?”

“Of course I did! You believed in me - and you got everyone else to, too.”

“They already did, Bokuto,” Keiji says, and Bokuto narrows his eyes before laughing. There’s a wetness to it, and Keiji wonders if he’s close to tears too.

“Yeah, yeah, alright, I’ve admitted it now, but you have to too,” he says, and Keiji nods tightly.

“I will,” they say. “I’ll be...myself, I suppose. The better version, even without you.”

Calloused hands wrap around Keiji’s own, and Bokuto grasps them tightly, pulling Keiji forward until they’re almost nose to nose, looking at them with a fierce sort of sincerity.

“Akaashi,” he says, and in the back of their mind, Keiji notices that he’s trembling. “You’re not without me. You’re never ever gonna be without me, okay? I’m here, even if I’m not.”

Of course. Keiji doesn’t know why they ever thought it would be any other way. The knot in their stomach that had been tightening since the year began finally releases, and they exhale softly, resting their forehead against Bokuto’s. They can feel his temperature rise, and know they’re too close for comfort, that they’ll probably have to talk about this later, but right now, all that matters is that Bokuto is right here, and he’s always going to be.

“Thank you.”

**Author's Note:**

> about halfway through this i realised that i was writing akaashi with my particular brand of obsessive-compulsive disorder, but i didn't want to tag it because it's not central. maybe it'll resonate with a few other people as well.
> 
> find me on [tumblr](http://deciduice.tumblr.com) and [twitter](http://twitter.com/deciduice).


End file.
